28th december

When I was in second grade, one day I was daydreaming in class, thinking about Superman and how powerful he was. Even then I wanted to fly, or at least meditate upon the glory of those who could. My beautiful dream was interrupted by a sudden, powerful shaking and rumble. The rumble sounded very much like the cranky dissonance that came from the garbage truck that toured our neighborhood each week and compacted everyone's throw-away things. My mind dealt with the anarchy of my oscillating surroundings by combining the two thoughts that had most recently resided in its nether regions. The only reasonable explanation was that Superman had driven a garbage truck directly into the wall of our school, and thus caused the horrible shaking. Seconds later I rolled into a fetal position on my knees with my fingers interlocked on the back of my head. I observed at close range the carpet underneath my desk. I have always been well trained and cool under the pressure (or so I believe). Why could he fly like a bird and yet not know how to drive a garbage truck properly? It took me then, as it still takes me now, a few moments to separate reality from fiction. The reality was that this was the first Earthquake that I "participated" in. The damage had been done. My adrenal glands had released their cargo and my pupils dilated. My still forming brain, which knew nothing of death and suffering, enjoyed the sensation. That would be the first of many earthquakes that I would "ride" with excitement.